


One More Time With Feeling

by lookninjas



Series: The One Where They're All Strippers [5]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-31
Updated: 2012-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-04 22:12:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1794982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookninjas/pseuds/lookninjas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Blaine and Kurt start to become acquainted with each others' baggage.  (Or:  The one where they keep running into each others' exes.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	One More Time With Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> Another part of the stripper!AU. Warnings for Implied public sex, implied stalking, vague mentions of a previous assault. Title comes from Regina Spektor's "One More Time With Feeling."

1\. Chandler

 

He'd recognize that behind anywhere.

Which is crass, maybe, but also totally true. He has a lot of good memories of that rear, watching it as Kurt walked, watching it as Kurt danced (and let's be honest here -- no one Chandler has ever been with before or after has ever danced quite like Kurt does, which is why he started haunting burlesque clubs the moment he heard about Kurt's little side project, because it's over and he's moved on but still, no one ever said he couldn't still admire the way his ex moves when the music starts up). It remains, without a doubt, the single greatest ass he's ever had the pleasure to see, the booty to which all others are compared, and he thinks about it probably far more than he should. So yes, he knows it; he'd know it with or without the skintight denim (not, of course, that he'd ever complain about Kurt Hummel's rear in skintight denim, because _hello_ ). There is no doubt in his mind that the ass wiggling along not more than ten feet in front of him belongs to one Mr. Kurt Hummel. It simply couldn't be anyone else's. 

And the butt next to Kurt's, the butt belonging to the dark-haired boy in the wonderfully clingy polo shirt and fantastic (and tight) striped capris is actually almost as good, and Chandler actually loses a few seconds just watching them walk down the crowded sidewalk together before it occurs to him that he's missing out on a fabulous opportunity to catch up, maybe score a little gossip (and possibly get some fantasy material, because while Victor is wonderful and his accent to-die-for, there is still alone time, and time to let the imagination roam free, and --), and also it occurs to him that maybe some people might think that following his ex around and staring at his ass without saying anything might be just a tad bit creepy, so he calls out, "Kurt Hummel, as I live and breathe!" 

And then Kurt turns around, and he's every bit as pretty as Chandler remembers.

And then Kurt's new flame turns around, and Chandler's brain melts down a little bit, because: Mercy's bachelorette party, and the blue shots, and the _boys_ , and that _stage_ , and the stupid _hot seat_ , and "Oh my God," he says (okay, _squeals_ , let's be honest here, but there's some guys it's just plain worth squealing over). "Kurt Hummel, you lucky bitch."

Kurt, bless his classically composed ice princess demeanor, doesn't so much as miss a beat. "Chandler," he says, "this is my..." He glances down at the boy next to him, and his face cracks into that smile, the smile that only very lucky people ever get to see (and Chandler can't even begrudge Mr. Short Dark and Gorgeous his time in that smile's sunshine, because let's face it, the boy has earned it just by existing). "This is my boyfriend," Kurt continues, still beaming at the man Chandler once spent a good month daydreaming about (they were going to adopt children, lots of them, from poor places, and live in a gorgeous house with nannies all over so Chandler could have private dances whenever he wanted, and --). "Blaine Anderson. Blaine, this is Chandler Kiehl."

"It's a pleasure," Blaine (and oh God, he's actually named after one of Chandler's favorite 80s movie semi-douchebags, and oh this isn't fair and yet somehow it's still wonderful) says, holding out his hand, and Chandler just latches on to it, mainly because he can't rip the guy's shirt off in the middle of the street just so he can see his chest again (he has such fond memories of that chest, and the abs, and that little glittery speedo, and oh God, Chandler, get it together he's still talking). "I feel like we've met --"

"Mercy's party!" Chandler says (and, okay, maybe he's still squealing a little, but oh God, if he could combine Kurt's height and fabulous hair with Blaine's eyes and his arms and his willingness to get naked in public, he could rule the world or at least L.A.). "When they pumped me full of UV Blue Raspberry and threw me up on that stage, and then _you_ came out and I just --"

Blaine's eyes go a little wide, and he glances nervously at Kurt; Kurt's smile shades down a few notches, from the brightness of full noon to the warm, consoling light just before sunset. "Mmm," Kurt says, and takes Blaine's hand, and squeezes it comfortingly, and _oh_ they're just too cute for words. "That seems to be the common reaction."

Chandler can't help but give Kurt a playful swat on the shoulder at that, because of course, leave it to Kurt to be blasé about something that is, in Chandler's humble opinion, frankly _incendiary_. "You would know, you lucky so-and-so," he scolds, and turns his attention back to Blaine just in time to catch the way his expression softens as he starts to relax. "Oh honey, I hope I'm not embarrassing you. Not that you've got anything to be embarrassed about; seriously, my God, but I just --" And it hits him, right then and there, just how perfect this is, with Kurt doing his burlesque thing now and Blaine a stripper, and "Oh my God, you could seriously be, like, the Brangelina of boys who take their clothes off. Oh my God, tell me you're going to perform together some day! Because you must. I know this guy who's got this club -- oh don't look at me like that, Kurt Hummel; it's not that kind of club, honestly, do you really think I'd --"

"It's not," Blaine says, quietly; he clears his throat and tries again and oh God he's _shy_ , the shy stripper, this is so flippin' precious Chandler's teeth are going to fall out and he doesn't even care -- the two of them are like a basket full of kittens. "It's not something we've really talked about. Performing together. I mean."

"Well," Chandler says, and steps forward right between the two of them. And oh, that's a delicious thought (not that it would ever happen, or that he'd ever do that to Victor; he's a good boy, deep down). "Then let's talk about it. Over brunch. My treat." And he reaches out and spins them by their shoulders, slides his arms into theirs, and leads them off before he's even gotten so much as a reply. "Oh, did I mention that I'm not talking no for an answer?"

"It's so good to see you too, Chandler," Kurt mutters, but he keeps his arm linked with Chandler's, so Chandler just laughs and keeps right on marching them down the road.

 

2\. Sebastian

 

When he comes back with their drinks (it's a madhouse in this place, seriously, he thought he was going to spill Blaine's IPA all over his shirt, and he _just_ finished taking this one in so it fits his waist decently), there's this guy at their table, and Kurt likes to think that he's pretty good at not turning into a jealous mess anymore, but there's something about this guy that just... He has this smug little stupid smirky meerkat face, and he's sitting a lot closer to Blaine than he should be, and Kurt can't hear what they're saying or see Blaine's face as this guy leans in that little bit closer, but there's something about the way Blaine's got his shoulders hiked up high that makes Kurt want to throw his drink and start causing a scene.

But he is Kurt Hummel, and he has his dignity (and fashion sense, and talent), so instead he stretches up that little bit taller, clears his throat, and asks "And who is this?" with his voice just loud enough to carry but not so loud that it starts sounding angry.

"Kurt," Blaine says, turning quickly; his eyes are wide in the darkened room, and Kurt tends not to think of Blaine as being overly fragile but right now, he just wants to save him. "This is... um..."

"Sebastian Smythe," Meerkat Face announces, his smile too wide, his eyes too narrow, his collar popped and every single inch of him radiating _douchebag_ as he leans back in his seat, not even making a token effort at shaking hands. "Part of Blaine's torrid past. And you are?"

"Kurt Hummel," Kurt says, leaning in to set their drinks down on the table; he's expecting Blaine to latch on to his beer just so he can have something to do with his hands, but instead Blaine latches on to Kurt, wrapping one arm around Kurt's and pulling him in close; Sebastian's eyebrows arch up and Kurt finds himself adding, "Part of Blaine's torrid future."

"Really," Sebastian says, as Kurt manages to turn and stretch just enough to drag a chair over without having to tug himself free of Blaine's tight grip. "Wow. I've gotta say, you don't exactly look the torrid type."

Kurt just hums as thoughtfully as he can, settling down in his chair, his shoulder pressed up to Blaine's. Blaine's only ever spoken about his past boyfriends in the vaguest of terms, and Kurt's never felt right about picking Cooper's brain, but he can't help but wish he knew a little bit more about Sebastian. Just so he'd know why Blaine seems so stricken, and possibly also so he wouldn't feel the need to bite back all the things that he's just dying to say right now, because he doesn't know the guy but he still wants to flay him alive. "Well. Appearances can be decieving."

"I certainly hope so," Sebastian says, looking Kurt up and down, and Kurt hooks his ankle around Blaine's underneath the table and doesn't bite Sebastian's head off for even daring to -- "I mean, considering what Blaine does for a living -- You _do_ know what he does for a living, don't you? Because, not to alarm you or anything, but it's a little salacious and you just don't seem the type to --"

"Of course he knows, Sebastian," Blaine sighs, and the awful thing is that he doesn't even sound angry, just tired. "Of course I... I don't do that. I would never _do_ that, Sebastian."

And he wouldn't; Blaine is honest to a fault, puts his whole heart out there. Kurt knows that. Of course he does. But if Kurt hadn't known, if Blaine hadn't _told_ him...

Kurt doesn't throw his vodka tonic at Sebastian and follow it up with a torrent of invective.

Somehow.

But it's about the hardest thing Kurt's ever done.

"Not that it's any of your business," Kurt says, because he doesn't want to fight Sebastian (at least not where Blaine can see them fighting; he doesn't care so much what happens to himelf or Sebastian, but Blaine's huddled against him and hunched in on himself and Kurt just can't make this any worse for him than it already is), "but we actually met at Tease-o-Rama in San Francisco. Where _I_ was performing. So yes, Sebastian, I know what he does. He knows what I do. It's not a problem for either of us."

"Tease-o- _Rama_." Sebastian raises his eyebrows once again, this time focusing in on Kurt. Kurt pulls his core in tight, draws his neck up so it's long and regal, and thinks _murder_ at him as hard as he can. It doesn't seem to have an effect on Sebastian, but it's a nice little mantra of its own, so he keeps repeating it as he looks at Sebastian. _Murder murder murder murder._ "You know, I gotta admit that I don't even really know what that is? Not that it sounds like much fun. I mean, I'm sure some guys are into the teasing -- Blainers here seems to have developed quite the appetite for it, but." Sebastian just shrugs. "Me, I'm into _pleasing_. Always have been, always will be."

"Which explains why this has been _such_ a pleasure," Kurt mutters, and wonders if it's time for a dignified exit yet. There's something about what Sebastian's saying, or maybe it's the way Sebastian's saying what he's saying, or maybe it's Blaine and _his_ reactions to the way Sebastian says what he says... But Kurt doesn't like it, whatever it is. It makes him... It makes him wonder. "But I'm afraid that Blaine and I have --"

"Don't bother with the dignified exit," Sebastian says, grabbing his drink and polishing it off in one long swallow. "Honestly, I was just checking up on Blaine, seeing if he'd remembered how to have fun again. Since he _hasn't_ \--" He shrugs, pushing up to his feet. "But you two have a good time holding hands and talking about your feelings, or whatever it is you do. Oh, and you might want to use the men's room now, because that guy in the mesh top has been eyefucking me for a good half an hour, and I think it's just about time to seal the deal. But hey, I'll look you up sometime. Assuming I ever feel like working for it again. Which I probably won't. But if I do, I'll let you know."

And just like that, he's gone.

Blaine sinks a little more into Kurt's side, slouched, his head resting against Kurt's collarbone, breath hitting Kurt's chest. "That was," he says, and stops, and laughs nervously. "That was really awkward."

"Awkward's not the word I'd use," Kurt says, softly, and kisses Blaine's forehead. "Are you okay? Do you want to go? We can go, right now, if you want to. I don't care."

"It's fine," Blaine says, his voice still weird and quiet and sad. "I mean... I don't know. I mean, maybe we should... He's not actually joking, about the men's room thing. That was kind of always something... I don't know. He liked that, being public. Liked showing off. I mean, why else would he date a stripper, right? It was just... just showing off."

" _Blaine_ ," Kurt murmurs, and pulls him closer, and kisses his forehead again. And the awful thing is, he doesn't even know what to say right now. He knows what to say to Sebastian (there are _dozens_ of things he'd like to say to Sebastian), but to Blaine? He doesn't know what to say to Blaine, to make this better. He doesn't know how to help him. But he knows he has to try. "Let me take you home. Not to do anything, or... We don't even have to talk, if you don't want to. Although we can. We can talk about... Anything you need to talk about, we'll talk about it. Or we won't, if you'd rather not. Just. Let's just go home. Okay?"

And Blaine nods, and lets Kurt pull him to his feet, wrap him up close and lead him through the crowd, eyes downcast because Kurt just can't see Sebastian again, because if he sees Sebastian, he _will_ say something, and there'll be a scene, and Blaine will... He doesn't know what Blaine will do then, and he doesn't want to find out. And that's more important than anything. So he doesn't think about how this looks, him and Blaine slinking off with their heads down and their untouched drinks behind them. He doesn't think about how Sebastian will see them leave and think that he's won. 

Because Kurt's leaving with Blaine, and Sebastian isn't, and that's the only thing that matters. 

Kurt's leaving with Blaine, and that means he's won.

 

3\. David

 

It's the same every time.

They'll be out in public; doesn't matter where, really; it happens anywhere, seemingly _everywhere_ , and sometimes Blaine wonders if the guy's actually following them (although it's a lot more likely that they just live in the same neighborhoods, frequent the same places, but still, sometimes Blaine wonders --). Blaine will be holding Kurt's hand, or have an arm around his waist, or just be touching him because he's always touching Kurt, somehow, and he'll feel Kurt tense up. And he'll lift his head, and scan the crowd of people around them, and see the same guy, every time. Big guy, way bigger than Blaine, with close-cropped brown hair and a square jaw and narrow dark eyes, and he looks like the kind of guy that made Blaine run away from public school and never look back, the kind of guy who used to spray paint ugly words on people's lockers and shove them in the hallway, the kind of guy who'd grab a couple of buddies and follow the school queers out of the Sadie Hawkins dance so he could teach them a lesson. He looks like everything that Blaine has ever feared in a human being, and he stares at Kurt with an intensity that sends a chill down Blaine's spine. 

And every time they see him out in public, Kurt -- Blaine's fearless, strong, terrifying Kurt -- folds into himself until he's somehow smaller than Blaine is, and Blaine can tuck Kurt under his shoulder and pull him close, tug him into the crowds until they're hidden, until that guy can't see them anymore. And he keeps his arm around Kurt as they walk, and after two or three city blocks spent huddled together, Kurt will finally straighten up a little bit (although he'll lean on Blaine for the rest of their outing, never letting Blaine out of his sight. Not that Blaine would ever leave him, of course). 

And when they're finally alone again, whether they're huddled on the bed at Kurt's tiny apartment or curled up on the sofa at Blaine and Cooper's or in Blaine's bed with Blaine sprawled on his back and Kurt tucked close against Blaine's chest, against his heart, Kurt will say absolutely nothing. 

And Blaine never asks him.

But he wonders.

Kurt doesn't come to too many of Blaine's shows -- maybe if Blaine's trying something new and wants feedback, or if one of Kurt's girlfriends has gotten curious and is just dying to see, or if he's just trying to distract himself for a night. But generally it's just the same old, same old; Blaine loves it, but it's still just his job, and he doesn't really need Kurt there every time. So Kurt is safe at home the night that Blaine looks up during "ABC," scans the crowd to gauge the audience reaction, and immediately fumbles his steps. 

Because it's that guy. 

He's _there_. 

He's followed them, followed Blaine, and now he's found him, and Blaine doesn't know what to do.

For one second, he's tempted to run. But then he looks to his left, meets Cooper's eyes, and smiles, and he finds his feet again, and keeps going.

He's run before. He's not doing it now. Not when Kurt needs him.

After the number is over, he slips backstage and grabs his jacket and Sam's red basketball warmups (he figures Sam won't mind; Sam's that kind of guy) and yanks them on over his briefs. He thinks about recruiting someone as his backup -- Cooper, maybe, or possibly even Sam (although he'd have to give the pants back for that) -- but he just can't. If the guy says something about Kurt, about what happened... Kurt's worked too hard to keep it secret; Blaine doesn't want anyone else to know.

He doesn't really want to know himself, honestly, but that's not going to stop him. 

He makes his way back out into the club. 

They've brought Señor Martinez back for the night, and he's grinding away onstage to Lady Gaga's "Teeth" while a woman who's easily old enough to be Blaine's mother runs her fingers up and down his legs, like she can't quite believe they're real. Blaine looks away from the stage, back towards the crowd. The guy has moved; it takes Blaine a little while to find him, and when he does, his breath catches in his throat.

The guy's standing at the door, waiting for him. 

Blaine's pretty sure something awful is going to happen if he follows the guy. Because he knows guys like this, knows what they can do (stitches in his eyebrow, the ache of broken ribs that took forever to heal). He knows that he should run from this, run and never look back.

But he doesn't.

The guy slips through the door, out into the night, and Blaine follows him.

It's chilly for L.A., and he's glad he's got the coat on, huddles up in it as he steps out past the bouncer. The guy leads him to the corner of the building, but no farther than that, and Blaine's more than a little grateful. The bouncer's still there, within earshot; he's got backup this time. He can do this.

The guy turns around, his face shadowed; Blaine can't really make out his expression. He stares at Blaine -- doesn't say anything, just stares -- and suddenly, for no real reason that Blaine can't think of, he realizes that he has absolutely had enough of this... this _shit_. He did this before, when he was fourteen years old. He doesn't need to do it again, and he doesn't have to, and he's not going to.

"Okay," he says, his voice coming out a little shaky from all the adrenaline coursing through him, because it's obviously fight or flight time and for once, just for once, he's chosen to fight. "You've got my attention. What the hell do you want?"

"You're Kurt's boyfriend," the guy says.

Blaine doesn't bother asking which Kurt. There's only one, really. "That's right," he says, and that's when the floodgates open. "Who _are_ you? Why are you doing this? Following us around -- I've seen you. What do you want? Why are you _doing_ this?"

"I'm not --" the guy says, and takes half a step back and rakes his hands through his hair and it's odd, unexpected; he almost looks... scared. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I know I've -- But it's not like I -- I'm _sorry_."

"If you're so sorry," Blaine says, his voice cracking a little bit, because this guy doesn't get to be scared. Kurt gets to be scared, and Blaine gets to be scared too, a little, privately, but this guy doesn't have that right. "If you're so sorry, then stop. I don't understand why you can't just -- _Why?_ Why follow us, follow _me_? Why can't you just _stop_?"

"Because I need him to know, okay?" The guy spins around, hands in his hair, comes back too fast and Blaine just barely manages to hold his ground because this guy is big, a lot bigger than he is, and Blaine keeps himself in good shape but he knows his limits and this is well beyond them. "Kurt, your boyfriend, I -- I need him to know how sorry I am, for what I... For what I did to him. He needs to hear that. That I'm sorry."

"No," Blaine says, and he's not even sure why he says it at first; he just shakes his head, holds his hands up and says, "No. No. If Kurt needed... If Kurt needed your apologies, he would _ask_ for them. He doesn't talk to you. He barely even looks at you, and he..." And there's so much Blaine wants to say, about how it doesn't matter whether or not Kurt ever admits to Blaine how much those random encounters still terrify him, how frightened he is of this guy, how whatever happened between them still haunts him. Blaine knows. He knows because Kurt shrinks, and hides, and then never says anything at all, and Kurt _never_ does that. But Blaine's not going to say that, because this guy doesn't deserve to hear it. " _You_ need this," is what he says instead. "Not him. You."

Another half-step in, and Blaine can finally see the guy up close, how thick his neck is, how his cheeks are getting splotchy, how his eyebrows are drawn together, and it takes every ounce of him not to run away, but he doesn't. He puts his hands up and he leans back a little, but he doesn't run. "You don't know," the guy says. "You don't know anything."

Blaine swallows hard. "I know Kurt," he says, because it's the truth. 

And apparently, the truth is enough, because the guy slumps down, turns away again, and when he turns back, his head is hanging low, defeated. "Look, just... Just tell him for me, okay? Tell him that... Tell him you saw David, and David said that he's sorry. He's... He's sorry for everything."

Blaine could lie. He could lie, and the guy would be satisfied, and walk away, and this would all be over, but he just... He can't do that. Because lying's just running away from the truth, and he can't run this time. "No," he says, softer now. "No. I can't do that, David. He's... Whatever you did, he doesn't want to talk about it. He doesn't want to think about it. He wants to move on. I'm not going to hurt him like that, dragging this all back up again. I can't... And you shouldn't, either. If you're sorry, if you're really sorry, then let him go. Let him move on." And he hates it, this last word that comes so easily to him; he hates that this is who he is, that he can't just scream and rage and drive the man off with the sheer force of his anger... But the word comes out anyway. " _Please_."

The other man says nothing at all, and doesn't lift his head, and Blaine hates himself for softening (hates himself for not softening enough, maybe), but he can't help it.

"Look," he says, and doesn't move closer, doesn't reach out, although a part of him wants to. "If you need to talk to someone, there's counselors, therapists, crisis lines... There are people who can help you. Good people. But this... This is about you, David. Not about Kurt, or what Kurt and I have together. It's about you. We can't help you. I don't..." He swallows again, just as hard as the first time, and forces back what he was going to say next. ( _I don't hate you._ ) "Do what you have to do," he says, instead. "But leave Kurt out of this. Leave _us_ out of this." And when David still doesn't look up, Blaine allows himself the luxury of a step back, and then another. "I don't want to see you again," he says.

David stays where he is, and after a few more cautious steps back, Blaine finally dares to turn his back and walk away.

Cooper's waiting for him by the door to the club, standing with the bouncer; Blaine's not sure if he's too drained to feel anything or if he just kind of expected this, but either way he's not surprised. Cooper gives him a quick once-over, then takes two long strides to meet him, swinging his arm around Blaine's shoulders and pulling him in close. "You need to go home?" he asks.

"Kurt..." Blaine says, and stops, and takes a deep breath, and tries again. "Kurt's meeting me, after the show. I don't want... I don't want him to know about this, Coop."

He can feel Cooper's sigh. "I told everyone you hurt your ankle when you stumbled during 'ABC,'" he says, and it's that weird voice that he hardly ever uses, the one that tells Blaine he's not supposed to argue, but just do as he's told. "So you're gonna sit the rest of the night out. Sam's gonna take my solo for the night, so." 

_So I'll be with you_ , is what Cooper doesn't say, and Blaine doesn't bring it up, because he knows that's still kind of a sore spot, that Cooper wasn't always there when he wanted to be. "Okay," Blaine says, and lets himself lean in to Cooper just a little bit, because he knows that this is something Cooper needs to do almost as much as he needs Cooper to do it. "Okay, Coop."

"And if that guy comes back, Blaine..." Cooper shakes his head. "Bouncer says he got a pretty good look at him, and he's passing the info around. If we see him again, we're calling the cops."

"Okay," Blaine says again, because he can't say that David won't be back, even though he knows, he _knows_ , that he won't be. But he doesn't know why -- he doesn't know if maybe, maybe, he managed to get through to David, and he'll get the help he needs and this is all going to end well. Or if, maybe, David is too desperate now to be stopped, and if this final rejection will be enough to make him...

And Blaine cares, he can't help himself caring about these things, but he knows he doesn't care enough to step in and save this guy, this stranger, not if it there's the slightest possibility that Kurt will be harmed in the process.

So he lets Cooper lead him back inside, and lets Miss Holliday put ice on his ankle and fuss over him, and lets the guys buy him beer and tell him stories about falling off the stage and throwing their backs out trying to lift women up into cowgirl position, and when Kurt comes by at the end of the night, he lets Cooper tell the story of how Blaine got hurt, and lets Kurt kiss his cheek and pet his hair and call him ridiculous with that fond smile on his face, and he doesn't tell Kurt a thing.

And in the end, he's glad he never told David, _I don't hate you_.

Because he does. 

He hates him. For Kurt, for himself, for everything.

 

4\. Jeremiah

 

_(Image: K.H. and B.A., photographed at the West Hollywood Farmer's Market)_

It's always a little awkward running into your ex-boyfriend.

Especially if you're coming at him with a stack of waivers in one hand and a Canon EOS around your neck because you're absolutely desperate to get a picture of him with his new flame.

_(read more)_

_(Image: K.H. and B.A., photographed at the West Hollywood Farmer's Market)_

So if you've been following this blog for a while, you should kind of have a feel for what I'm working on right now. I've been calling it "Public Displays of Affection" in my head, just because it's simple and it's catchy, but at the same time I can't help but feel that "affection" isn't really the word I want. It's so aggressively neutral; we feel affection for our friends, our pets, our co-workers. And when I'm looking for subjects, I'm not looking for just affection. 

I'm looking for love. 

_(Image: K.H. and B.A., photographed at the West Hollywood Farmer's Market.)_

I always take a picture before I head over with the waivers; it feels a little creepy, paparazzi-esque, but you can't always tell what people are going to look like through the lens until you've actually got the first shot. So this is the first picture I took of B and K together, before they knew I was hanging around. This is what I saw the first time that I saw them. For the record: I swear to God I didn't recognize B until we were right on top of each other, and honestly, I think this is part of the reason why. He and I so rarely even held hands in public, and yet here he was, so absolutely comfortable and secure with K that he had no problem snuggling right up to him, pressed against K's back with his arms around K's waist, K's hands over his. That sort of public physical contact that so many straight couples take for granted, and yet even here in WeHo, it seems almost transgressive, revolutionary, just because it's two men involved. Not that I think they meant it to be -- not that I think it meant anything at all but the simple fact that B and K are in love and want to be close to one another, as all lovers do. But because they're both men, it takes on so many different shades of meaning depending upon the biases of the audience: some will see it as a threat, some will see it as an abomination. Some will see it as an act of courage, of defiance. A challenge, perhaps -- a strike at what some call traditional morals others see as an unjust system. Either way, it's political. No matter what they wanted it to be, it's political.

It's also very brave, even in WeHo.

And as I'm sure you've guessed by now, I've never really been a brave person.

_(Image: K.H. and B.A., photographed at the West Hollywood Farmer's Market)_

I'd like to think that B. and I loved each other, once upon a time. I know we cared a lot about each other, at least. But whatever love we had, when we had it, it was a private kind of love. I was out then, more or less, but I think a part of me always wanted to be back in. And as far as B goes -- honestly, I can't speak for him, and I wouldn't dare to try. He was getting out of a bad relationship at the time, with a guy that had kind of paraded him around like a trophy, and I remember telling myself that obviously he wouldn't be comfortable kissing or touching or even holding hands in public, after what he'd gone through. But I'm not sure anymore if that's the truth. Maybe I was just telling myself that because _I_ was uncomfortable, and I just wasn't ready to admit it yet. 

Maybe B was reaching out the entire time, and I just never had the courage to reach back.

_(Image: K.H. and B.A., photographed at the West Hollywood Farmer's Market.)_

I wanted to do this series for a lot of different reasons: because I'm tired that the stock romantic images -- the big swooping kisses, the embraces in the rain, the tangled bodies on the shoreline -- are always the sole province of straight couples; because I'm aware that it's a powerful and transgressive thing to recreate those images with same-sex couples; because I'd like it to be less transgressive, less political, and the only way I can think of to get us there is to push these images into people's faces, over and over, until it's no longer a surprise. But also, personally, I'd like to have a love like B and K have, something easy and natural and comfortable, both in public and in private. I'm not as brave as they are; I can't just reach out and take it and say to hell with what the world thinks. But maybe, in my own way, I can work to change what the world thinks, make it safe enough for cowards like me.

_(Image: K.H. and B.A., photographed at the West Hollywood Farmer's Market.)_

B didn't call me a coward, of course. Part of me thought he was going to -- when I realized just who I was going to be taking pictures of, I very nearly turned and ran (which I guess would've just been proving the point), but I toughed it out and we had a nice chat. K was very friendly and warm, and more than happy to be part of the project. We spent a good hour together, the two of them shopping while I followed behind and took pictures, and it was all surprisingly easy. Although the two of them are performers, they never posed, and nothing felt staged. They were very natural, and amazing subjects. Ordinarily, I post outtakes on this blog, but as I went through my pictures from today, I realized that nothing really qualified. Everything they gave me was candid and open and true. I think I'd follow them around for weeks if I could, if it wouldn't be creepy. The two of them are exactly what I was looking for in a couple.

I suppose it's a little strange that one of them is my ex, and that he has this and I don't right now, but honestly, it's hard to feel anything but happiness for him. He's come a long way since we first met. 

I haven't come as far, but maybe I'm getting there at my own pace. 

_(Image: J.N.. and B.A., photographed at the West Hollywood Farmer's Market by K.H.)_

I'm like most photographers; I don't like a camera unless it's in my hands and pointed safely away from me. So the fact that I don't have any pictures of B and myself from the time we spent together -- that probably says more about me than it does about us, or what we were to each other. But when K asked if I wanted a picture of B and myself, just for old time's sake, I could hardly say no. And while I usually tend to hate any picture with me in it, this one, I like. I think I like it more than I'd like any picture from back when B and I were a couple. We were never bad together, but I think we're both better now. And it's good, I think, to have this little reminder. 

It gets better for all of us, if we give it enough time.

Thank you, B and thank you, K, for reminding me of that.

\-- J.N.


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